


Pride & Certainty

by Syntaxeme



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anxiety, Arguing, Consensual Violence, Control, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Love/Hate, Rivalmance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:39:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3429806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syntaxeme/pseuds/Syntaxeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To say Sulevin Lavellan has control issues would be a gross understatement. As her Keeper's First (formerly), she has a deeply-ingrained sense of responsibility for every single one of her followers. She also has a terrible temper, mild anxiety problems, and a...somewhat antagonistic personality. </p><p>Solas, already predisposed against the Dalish and not appreciating her insistence that she can do all that needs to be done alone, finds himself inclined to answer her challenges. In fact, he might even say that he enjoys their arguments. </p><p>Yet it soon becomes apparent that she can not do everything alone, that the demands of leading the Inquisition are very different from those of leading her clan, and that her namesake "certainty" may not be as solid as she thought. But despite their differing opinions, despite their rows and frustrations, there is someone else present who seems, ironically enough, able to put her mind at ease when it's needed the most.</p><p>[ We're starting in Haven and working our way forward, in every sense. Short chapters, for the most part. ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

            They were going on three days now, and she still hadn’t woken. Had halting the Breach’s growth taken too heavy a toll? Even after first obtaining the mark, she’d recovered more quickly than this. Solas knew, having been there observing all the time. He had assumed then that she wouldn’t wake, as well; he just hoped he would be proven wrong again.

            She had surprised him before, after all. First when she had arrived with Cassandra—and with such intense fervor in her magic! He’d realized she was a mage, of course, but after seeing her so thoroughly exhausted, he hadn’t expected her to bounce back so quickly. Yet there she was, flinging fire and lightning with no hesitation. Seeing her that way was quite a shock; somehow, her unconscious state had misled him into thinking she looked serene—perhaps, knowing she was undoubtedly First to her clan’s Keeper, he had expected a particular attitude from her. Yet when she fought, she was merciless, out for blood with every spell.

            When finally they were no longer under immediate siege from demons, it had occurred to him to test his theory about the Rifts and their relation to her Mark. When he’d taken her hand, she’d almost pulled it back but had hesitated, just as keenly attentive as the others as the first Rift was closed. She was Dalish; he’d expected his knowledge to be discounted, even prepared for the term “flat-ear” to come into play—yet she had listened to his theories with rapt, albeit rather…utilitarian attention. Likely due to her Keeper training, she easily took charge of the group, leading even Cassandra on their way to seal the Breach. She took each new development in stride, focusing singularly on their purpose, refusing to be distracted yet still aware of everything.

            Although she had not succeeded in sealing the Breach entirely, their efforts had made _some_ progress, enough to encourage the idea that another attempt could succeed where this one had fallen short. Yet if their “prisoner,” the one the villagers of Haven had taken to calling “The Herald of Andraste,” didn’t wake soon, there was no guarantee they would have that chance. Solas had made no official commitment, internal or otherwise, to stay, himself. The wary looks the former Templars gave him had not escaped his notice, and he did not relish the thought of being kept against his will, should events not go as he hoped.

            But he remained steadfast and kept his faith, in _her_ , if nothing else. When her very name was “certainty,” it was difficult to believe she could leave a job half-done. And his trust was rewarded when, after three full days of sleep, she woke to find all of Haven waiting and herself declared a religious symbol. All circumstances considered, her response also came as a surprise: she chose to stay, to devote herself to the Inquisition’s cause in whatever way she could. Rather than returning to her clan. Rather than looking to her own fortunes. Selfless. More than that: willfully _responsible_ for the fate of others. Not at all what he expected.


	2. In which valuable leadership qualities are discussed

            “You are Dalish; I presume that means you follow the pantheon of the ancient elves? Yet you offer no objection to being proclaimed the mouthpiece of the Maker’s prophet.”

            “I suppose it bothered me at first,” Sulevin said thoughtfully. “Now and again, usually when dealing with the Chantry, I’m reminded of the meaning of the words. But most of the time, it’s just a title. It’s the only thing that gives me any authority; it would be counterproductive to reject it.”

            “And you have already demonstrated the value you place on productivity,” he laughed.

            “Well, if it’s what they need to trust me—if it makes people feel better about all this—I don’t mind making the concession. It doesn’t change my beliefs or how I see myself.”

            “That is a sensible view. I was simply surprised at your willingness to accept such a demanding role. Perhaps you are not _officially_ leading the Inquisition, but you must know that your circumstances give you a considerable amount of credibility. Many would balk at the prospect of that much responsibility.”

            “I’m no stranger to responsibility,” she pointed out. “And I’m not afraid to make decisions when they need to be made. If the Inquisition needs direction and I’m called upon to provide it, I will.” She was undoubtedly very confident, but in a way that resembled Purpose more than Pride; she simply knew her strengths and was willing to use her talents. He could appreciate that. In one way or another. Indeed, he was still impressed with her consistent ability to surprise him; he was not a man easily surprised. She was, for want of a better word, _intriguing_.

            “That willingness is a valuable trait, no doubt owed to the expectations that your clan placed on you as First.” She seemed surprised that he had mentioned her position in line for the clan’s leadership.

            “Yes. Being groomed as a leader for most of one’s life does make it easier to…take initiative in a situation like this. Hm. Not that I’ve been in many situations like this,” she muttered with the smallest hint of a smile. He had noticed that was a particularly rare sight, a rather less fortunate side effect of her ingrained sense of duty.

            “Had you not said so, I would never have guessed. You present yourself as a leader, and those who would follow take note,” he said.

            “Does that include you?” She folded her arms, keeping close to herself as if she were cold. “I hardly took you for a follower.”

            “I can be, when the leadership in question is capable. You have thus far proven yourself to be so,” he answered and with a slight smirk of his own, added, “Among other things.” Certainly there could be no harm in just a bit of casual flirting. It took her all of three seconds to recognize the tone in his voice and the look in his eyes. It was difficult to tell against her dark skin, but from this distance, he could see her starting to blush. She tilted her head down beneath her cowl to avoid his eyes, and the effect was…unexpectedly charming.

            “Ahem. Thank you. I should probably get back to work,” she mumbled haltingly. “We’ll…talk later.” Her eyes flickered just briefly back up to his before she turned to leave, likely just to escape the unanticipated tension. As she fled, he considered her reaction and what it meant; he hadn’t expected this sudden change in her attitude. Interesting. He would have to keep an eye on that….


	3. In which there is a fine, fine line

            It quickly came to his attention that Sulevin was not, despite her experience and undeniably skillful leadership, the most congenial person one could meet. Aside from the serious attitude she most often displayed, she was impatient, she was stubborn, and she did not abide failure well—her own or anyone else’s. The more they spoke, the more apparent her unyielding, occasionally provocative personality became. Unfortunately for both of them, Solas himself had the odd moment of contention when prompted; it was only a matter of time before the right subject would come up to ignite sparks between the two.

            “You’ve said you’ve spent a great deal of time in the Beyond, learning, seeing the past. Have you seen much of Elvhenan?” He’d wondered when this would come up.

            “I am surprised that you ask. As your Keeper’s First, were you not taught _all_ there is to be known on the subject?” Recalling his past experiences with the Dalish and their flat rejection of his knowledge, he was hardly inclined to assume she would be better. His answer came out rather more scathing than he intended, and it didn’t go unnoticed.

            “I was taught all that my Keeper knew, yes. But I would never claim to know _everything_. That would come off as condescending and self-important, wouldn’t it?” There was a slight mocking curve on her lips, but her gaze was cold. He wasn’t generally one to be frustrated by remarks like this. Perhaps it was the sore subject, or perhaps it was Sulevin’s ignorant dismissal of his factually more extensive knowledge; regardless of the reason, he felt compelled to answer in kind.

            “If your education was as imprecise as that of the Dalish I have met in my travels, it most certainly would,” he said, noting the narrowing of her eyes. “It has been my experience, on the rare occasion I was even allowed to speak with a clan or its Keeper, that they were quick to discount whatever knowledge I offered if it was not in keeping with the tales passed down from their ancestors’ ancestors. Even as they desperately cling to the ruins of the ‘ancient ways,’ they refuse to see how much of the truth has been lost to them over the centuries.”

            “They—pardon me, _we_ —probably just find it difficult to believe the accounts of a lone wandering mage’s ‘journeys’ in the Beyond over knowledge taught to us since childhood by our clan leaders,” she countered. Even if he _had_ , as he’d claimed, seen reflections of memories of Elvhenan (as if that source weren’t indirect enough) and learned that things were not as they thought, could he truly blame them for not accepting it without proof?

            “Do the Dalish teach their children never to question? Never to seek the truth if it may differ from their _hahren’s_ teachings?” Their tones were each growing progressively harsher, hers aggressive, his calm but tense. “Perhaps they—that is, _you_ —should make an effort at verifying those lessons, rather than simply rejecting that which is unfamiliar.”

            “If we were all isolated, with no responsibilities outside ourselves, that might be a simple thing to do,” she answered, crossing her arms defensively, a habit of hers he had begun to notice. “But those of us with the ability to dream as you do also have a duty to lead the rest of our clan. I could not ask them to wait while I chose to sleep.”

            “Yet now you are here; the demands of your clan are no longer upon you. Were you of a mind, you could take time to explore the matter.” Somehow, it didn’t surprise him in the slightest that she couldn’t simply take his word. Part of him understood the need for proof…but did she have to be so infuriatingly disparaging about it?

            “I’m _sure_ you’re joking,” she answered, seeming almost offended by the notion. “Do you honestly think I have _more_ free time now? I hardly have time for _sleep_ , let alone recreational dreaming. Not all of us choose to escape what we dislike about the world at present by fleeing into someone else’s memories—”

            “Excuse me, which of us was actively and _willingly_ attempting to seal the Breach while the other was only made to help by circumstance—”

            “And which of us has actually made progress toward sealing the Breach, rather than simply observing and—”

            “Do you two need to be separated?” Their surprisingly heated exchange was interrupted by Varric, who had just reached the top of the nearby steps and was looking at them dubiously. “Because I _will_ …call the Seeker.”

            Sulevin suddenly seemed to realize that in her passion, she had stepped closer, as if moments away from turning the argument physical. Meanwhile, Solas had simply held his ground, which left them standing rather close—a condition she quickly remedied by scoffing and turning on her heel to return to the Chantry. And to think, she had hoped that talking to him would improve her mood after she had been so frustrated all day. Now she only felt worse.

            Solas found himself pacing back and forth in the snow; he wasn’t often prone to restlessness like this—but then, it had also been some time since he’d had such a spirited conversation. Most didn’t care to ask his views to begin with; when they did, disagreements were usually brushed off with a change of subject. Yet she had insisted on matching him point for point. Again, she had countered his suppositions, and he wasn’t sure whether to be angry or impressed. Varric was watching him curiously, naturally taking mental notes on the scene in case it should be of use in his writing. “You all right, Chuckles?”

            “Yes,” he answered almost immediately, forcing himself to stand still. He had no intention of letting her get the better of him. He wouldn’t let her occupy his mind any more than she already had. “Yes. Thank you.”

            “No problem. You two might want to get a room next time, though.”

            “I. What?” As was so rarely the case, Solas was caught off-guard. “Do you mean to say that _that_ conversation seemed…?”

            “Well, Romance has never been my specialty, but you don’t get far in my line of work without being able to read people. Whatever you were talking about, it looked pretty…intense,” he said. “But hey, you seem like a self-aware guy. You don’t need me to tell you how you feel.”


	4. In which Solas is given a helpful nudge

            The Iron Bull had been casually observing their interactions for the past two weeks or so, and he was beginning to draw some _conclusions_. Sulevin wasted no opportunity for an argument, and Solas’s caustic answers did little to deter her; though they probably didn’t realize it themselves, each seemed to look forward to the sparks that (almost literally) flew when they clashed. There were brief taunting spats that generated a particular type of tension between them, and then there were vicious, hostile _battles_ that could result in them not speaking for days.

            Having been in a fair share of relationships—of one sort or another—the Bull could easily recognize exactly what kind this one was. Or could be. The way he saw it, one or both of them simply needed a push to take it in the right direction. To that end, he approached Solas one afternoon as they were camped in the Hinterlands. They had spent the entire morning tracking down and sealing rifts, so Sulevin was utterly exhausted; although she had been pushing herself progressively harder and harder, she was practically unable to cast even a simple spell by then, so she had begrudgingly agreed to rest. While she was sleeping, the Bull figured it was the perfect time to talk.

            “So, Solas.” The two had been left alone, as Sera had wandered off, bow in-hand, to do Maker-knows-what, so he spoke freely. “About you and the Herald….”

            “What about us?” The mere mention of Sulevin set a slight edge to his voice, but he reminded himself that the Iron Bull was not the one who frustrated him so.

            “I’m just wondering when you’re planning to make your move.” At this, Solas went rigid.

            “I…don’t know what you mean,” he said.

            “Yeah, I bet you don’t,” Bull chuckled. “Come on, I’ve seen your face when you two fight. You look…ah, what’s a good word for it? Spellbound! Yeah, that’s perfect.”

            “I think you must be misinterpreting my expression,” Solas muttered, mortified by this observation. Certainly, their quarrels were…engaging, but “spellbound”?

            “Nope. Trust me, I know what sexual tension looks like.” For once, he wasn’t sure how to respond.

            “I beg your pardon?” he said at length.

            “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it. She does, too, if it makes you feel any better,” Bull assured him.

            “And how do you presume to know that?” The idea made his stomach churn, but he had a difficult time of classifying the feeling as positive or negative.

            “Little things, you know? You have to pay attention. Like…like how she’ll bite her lip while she’s listening to you argue back at her. Or when she feels like she has to get closer to tell you off, how she leads with her chest? That’s not a challenge: it’s an invitation.”

            He didn’t necessarily _want_ to recognize these possibilities, but he wasn’t the type to dismiss another’s thoughts without due consideration. He had never thought to closely examine Sulevin’s body language during their altercations, yet looking back at his memories, he could perhaps see how one might think…something along those lines. Still, for him, it was strange to entertain the notion for even a moment.

            “Perhaps you and I perceive those gestures differently.” Though he was admittedly impressed that Bull had picked up on them.

            “Maybe. Maybe you just don’t want to admit you see it. What about you? You’re telling me you’ve _never_ thought about it? You never get that brutal with anyone else.” Solas wanted to ask what he meant when he said “it,” but he supposed he already knew. He had, after much debate and with no small amount of chagrin, admitted to himself that he was attracted to her, though beyond her physical appearance, he had yet to determine _why_. But then, her being a challenge to understand, almost like a puzzle, was part of her appeal. And was that why her goading affected him so?

            “No one else makes such a concentrated effort at provoking me,” he pointed out.

            “And you don’t think there’s a _reason_ for that?” The conversation was beginning to evoke entirely too many thoughts and feelings for Solas’s liking; generally, he had no issue with lengthy contemplation on all aspects of a problem and the possible solutions thereto, but for this particular matter, he would’ve preferred to do so alone. Now that the thought had been put into his mind, he wanted time to think of it on his own.

            “This is hardly an appropriate conversation to be having here, present company considered,” he muttered distractedly. The Iron Bull began to answer, ready to call him out on his evasive bullshit, but he was interrupted when their leader stepped out of her tent, pulling her cowl up over her red hair.

            “Gentlemen,” she said, casting them a sharp glare—the effect of which was somewhat lessened by the slight blushing on her cheeks. It was only evident if one were looking closely, and, Solas realized, he was. “Shall we? We’ve wasted enough time.”

            “Sure thing, Boss.” When Bull spoke, her gaze narrowed and lingered on him for a moment before she walked away to look for Sera. Bull gave Solas a sort of “well, shit” look as he got to his feet. When he began to pick up his sword, however, he took in a sharp breath and jerked his hand back, finding the thing burning hot. Sulevin glanced back at them knowingly, proving she had heard at least some of the conversation and showing her disapproval— _subtle_ , as always. Once he was certain she was out of earshot, Bull chuckled and clenched his hand a few times. “If that’s not proof enough for you, I don’t know what you’re waiting for.”


	5. In which "Your leadership has changed."

            “I know this is a thankless task; I have no illusions to the contrary. I’m sure Cassandra knows, as well. None of us is here to be beloved; we’re here to _do_ what must be _done_.”

            “By your own determination of what is and is not necessary,” he said. “Assuming full control over those you protect ‘for their own good.’ Did you not tell me you oppose the idea of the Circle?”

            “Of course I do.”

            “Yet here you invoke the same reasoning.”

            “It isn’t the same. It’s not about controlling _them_ ,” she argued, shaking her head. “It’s about stabilizing the situation—”

            “By controlling everything _around_ them,” he finished for her, and she dropped her pen to look up at him in irritation.

            “Since the Conclave, people have been looking to _me_ for answers. All my life, I’ve been taught how to provide them, and I’ve learned that people need direction; if a leader isn’t there to give it…I assume you know what happened in Kirkwall,” she concluded.

            “A great many things happened in Kirkwall—including the rise of a leader who decided that she alone knew what was best for the people and how to ‘stabilize the situation.’ I assume _you_ know what happened to her.”

            “Are you comparing me to a red lyrium-crazed Templar?” she demanded, now on her feet and leaning forward on the desk as if she might attack him at any moment. Solas didn’t advance to meet her threat, but neither did he retreat.

            “I am _trying_ to open your eyes before you do something you’ll regret,” he said evenly, though the calm in his voice was forced. “Yet you seem intent on remaining blind.”

            “What’s worse: a blind leader or the fool who follows her? If you don’t _approve_ of my decisions, you’re welcome to leave,” she snapped, gesturing to the door. “I’m certainly not keeping you here.” He watched her a moment longer before letting out a frustrated sigh.

            “Indeed you aren’t,” he said simply and left the room, not willing to continue fighting her when she wouldn’t listen. Part of him _was_ tempted to take her offer and leave, but another part knew the Inquisition still had need of him. And yet another part was still burning with the fire in her eyes. It was an irrational way to feel, and he had no intention of acting on it—yet he couldn’t seem to diffuse the heat that had built in his chest as they’d argued, and only one very irrational solution lingered in his mind.

            Sulevin had a similar problem but less trouble externalizing it. Once he was gone, she impulsively dashed an inkwell to the floor and watched it shatter. Better that than set fire to her desk. She liked to think of herself as handling pressure well, that she was resourceful enough to deal with whatever problem was presented to her…but something about that _man_! He drove her absolutely mad. To think, there was a time when she had enjoyed the rush of a dispute with him…and occasionally still did. But he asked questions that made her doubt herself; in her position, self-doubt was a luxury she could not afford. She had to believe she was doing good, that her actions were helping. If she didn’t—if she wasn’t—what was the point of acting at all?

            No. She had been trained as a leader since childhood; she _knew_ how to do this. If he disagreed, it made no difference. People were alive because she had kept them that way. The Breach was stable because she had persisted, even when pain had all but crippled her. She _was_ helping. And should she stop due to _his_ objections, people would suffer. Of that, she was certain. Who was he, having spent so long alone, responsible for no one but himself, to criticize her? He had no idea how difficult it was to be a leader when the stakes were so high; he was more invested in the Fade, in spirits and memories. What did he know of duty, of sacrifice? Above all that, what angered her most about him was his inexplicable ability to distract her from her work when he wasn’t even in the room.


	6. In which an offer is made and a weakness discovered

            She had distanced herself somewhat from the town to “work,” knowing her open practice of magic would not be looked upon well by most of the others there. Besides, she preferred to be alone for this sort of thing. After clearing a spot for herself in the snow, she created a fire that hovered around her, floating here and there to illuminate her work and keep her warm. It felt almost like company—but it was quiet and helpful, so it was better than having another person there.

            Next, she drew some of the snow up to form a solid pane of shining ice, rather like a mirror. With no small amount of effort, she could use it to check in on her clan. The images she saw weren’t in real time, but by focusing her attentions on their recent location, she could channel their lingering memories through the Fade. She saw Leliana’s agents arrive with the gifts she had sent, and she was pleased to find the clan accepted them graciously. That was a relief.

            Now slightly more at ease, knowing her people were still safe, she was more comfortable practicing less productive and more self-satisfying forms of magic. Her ice “mirror” shattered, and the shards dissipated into snowflakes to be borne away on the wind. Her little ball of fire chased them, melted them, and with a turn of her hand, the thermal energy of the fire became electric instead, crackling through the air on those few water droplets. This all happened within a matter of seconds, and then the air was dark and still again. Sulevin smiled and sat up, legs folded under her, to try something else.

            After restoring her ball of fire (safely away from her current work), she called on the snow again, this time much more gently. It took quite a lot of focus, but she was able to control each snowflake almost singularly. In doing so, she linked them together slowly but surely, forming delicate frost crystals that hung in the air. The ice was less than paper-thin, crafted like filigree or lace with elegant fractals. Perhaps not of any practical _use_ , but it was undeniably beautiful. Sometimes, she felt, that was all magic needed to be.

            Some distance away, Solas was watching her work, fascinated for a number of reasons; not only was it an impressive bit of magic, both technically and visually, but since they’d met, he was sure he hadn’t seen her smile that way even _once_. It was new insight into her character, and it forced him to alter certain opinions he had formed on her. Interested in seeing more—and recalling why he’d sought her out to begin with—he took the chance of coming closer. She hardly seemed to notice his approach until he spoke.

            “I had no idea you were such an artist,” he said, and she visibly tensed. Defensive by reflex, she flung a handful of snow in his direction, and it boiled in mid-air, leaving him only a moment to deflect the attack and avoid being scalded. She was on her feet seconds later, only to see the water flash-frozen into a string of icicles that sparkled like jewels before falling back into the snow. But she’d realized just who it was who had startled her, so she relaxed with a heavy sigh.

            “Don’t sneak up on me that way,” she said, though he noted that she didn’t apologize; it would’ve been a lie to say she was sorry for attacking him, when she’d been thinking about it for days.

            “ _Ir abelas_. I did not mean to frighten you.”

            “I wasn’t _frightened_ , just—” The look on his face said he’d chosen that particular word because he knew she would protest, so she stopped. “What do you want?”

            “I would like to make you an offer,” he said. “I have given the matter some consideration, and I believe you would benefit from improving your people skills.” She almost laughed aloud.

            “You’re saying _you_ could help me improve my ‘people skills’?” she asked. “You, the lone nomadic mage who prefers spirits to the living?” He nodded, unfazed by her teasing.

            “Your temper, in particular. Your manners could stand to be polished, as well.” She frowned, irritated, and he went on, “Even now, you’re becoming unreasonably angry at the mere _mention_ of the issue.” Realizing begrudgingly that he was right, she took a deep breath to calm herself.

            “And just what makes you think _you_ can help with that?” Folding his hands behind his back, he tilted his head up slightly.

            “Of the two of us,” he said. “Consider which has made more enemies in the past…forty-eight hours. Consider which has nearly come to blows with former Templars, which has managed to recruit and subsequently antagonize at least three—”

            “All right, I _get it_ ,” she growled.

            “And which of us, despite being of opposing views to many of them, is still on relatively amiable terms with most of our companions,” he added. As much as she truly wanted to tell him just what he could do with his “amiable terms,” she realized that would have only proven his point further.

            “What do you propose, then? Etiquette lessons?”

            “Nothing so formal as that. I would simply take your agreement as permission to point out to you when you are being unreasonable and to help…soften your edges, shall we say. For diplomatic purposes. I could also teach you a few breathing exercises,” he chuckled, and she rolled her eyes. Still, she was aware that her…occasionally abrasive personality had, at times, kept her from doing what was best for the Inquisition. That was inexcusable.

            “If you’re certain to remember who’s in charge—”

            “How could I forget? I assure you: that will never come into question.”

            “—then…I suppose it won’t hurt to _try_.” Upon hearing this, he smiled, and she couldn’t tell if the warmth in her stomach was irritation or…something else. Nausea, perhaps.

            “Very good. We shall begin tomorrow, then, if it pleases you. Until then, I encourage you to continue your work as you were. It seemed to help.” The thought that he had seen her with her guard down—as it so rarely was—made it impossible for her to look at him as he left. She doubted she would be able to regain her focus properly.

            As she was trying, a gust of very cold air swept past her, sneaking under her hood and across her neck to make her gasp—then it suddenly turned warm, and she relaxed with a sigh from the pleasant shift. Once the sensation had faded, however, she realized what had happened and turned to find Solas watching her with a thoughtful smile. She tried her best to look angry, indignant, but mostly she hoped the darkness hid her blushing.

            It didn’t.

            “Good night, _lethallan_.” Ironic, he thought as he left, that magic should be her weakness. Yet if it was able to find some real emotion beneath her constant veneer of callous “responsibility,” he would have to remember it in the future. As enjoyable as her passion was when she was angry, the idea of seeing it in another setting was simply too intriguing to resist. Just when he’d supposed he had her mindset determined and classified, she had surprised him, yet again, with another facet; it was quickly becoming his personal mission to see every aspect she had to offer.


	7. In which an unstoppable force meets an immovable object

            “Herald, wait!” Solas was roused from his reading by shouting outside, so he stepped out to see Sulevin storm past the tavern to her own borrowed home while Cassandra stood in the Chantry doorway and watched her leave. She shook her head and went back inside—but that left the issue of whatever had upset Sulevin so much. He had the feeling that leaving her alone was possibly the worst thing to do. So he took it upon himself to investigate. Before he could knock, however, he heard a loud _crash_ from inside; alarmed, he hastily opened the door to find Sulevin standing in the middle of the room, head in her hands, practically shaking with rage. She had already upturned a bookshelf, scattering its contents across the floor, and she still seemed unsatisfied.

            “…what happened?” he asked calmly, closing the door behind him.

            “I made a mistake,” she said. “I sent scouts across the Frostbacks—over them, not around—looking for some…I don’t know. Some artifact. A _thing_. And they…they’re all. Dead. Killed by jealous bandits. I sent seven people…to retrieve an _object_ …and they’re dead.”

            “And you feel responsible for their deaths?” As much as she tried to be strategically objective, clearly it wasn’t working.

            “Who else? I was the one who sent them. I was the one who decided it was worth the risk,” she said. “I may as well have killed them myself.” She tensed, and one of her fallen books flared, burning to ashes in a matter of seconds. Solas frowned.

            “Do you recall giving me permission to comment on your temper?”

            “Yes,” she said through gritted teeth.

            “Then allow me to say: you are behaving like a child.”

            “Thank you, that’s _very_ helpful,” she seethed. “I think this is an entirely reasonable response. My actions cost people their lives. How _exactly_ am I meant to deal with that maturely?”

            “By mourning their loss, learning from your mistake, and continuing to lead those who remain,” he said, watching her pace like a wildcat waiting to pounce. He didn’t doubt her mind was in a similar state, looking for the smallest provocation to attack. “The Inquisition cannot and will not survive if its de facto leader falls to pieces whenever things do not go as she intended.”

            “People _died_ , Solas. People I was meant to protect. They didn’t volunteer for this. They didn’t give themselves so others could live. They died for _nothing_ but my poor judgment.”

            “All the more reason to reconsider the decisions involved in that judgment. Your blind anger will not bring them back, _da’len_.” It had been so long since she’d been called that; it mollified her, if only slightly.

            “No. But I’ll be damned if it can’t get them justice,” she said as she tried to walk past him—but he stood before the door, blocking her from leaving. “Get out of my way.” Her voice held a dangerous sort of tension, but he was unmoved.

            “No. Listen to yourself. You are of no use to anyone in this state. Stay here. Calm yourself before you go off to make another decision you will regret.” He wanted nothing more than to offer some sort of comfort, but he knew all too well that she was in no mental state to accept it. Her hands clenched into fists, and he could see the air around them already distorting with heat.

            “I’ll only ask once more,” she said. “ _Move_.” Frost was forming on his fingertips, ready to counter an attack if necessary.

            “And I will say it as often as is necessary: _no_.”

            “ _Fenehdis_ ,” she snarled, swiping her hand upward to send a ball of fire at him—with the intent of forcing him to dodge out of her way—but he immediately blocked it with a wall of ice; the collision filled the room with steam.

            “Is this what you need?” he asked sharply, deflecting another attack and clouding the air more still. “To throw a tantrum, to hurt something else because you are suffering? Do you think this will replace what you’ve lost? Or do you simply not know how to respond to pain but with more destruction?” There was no answer. He couldn’t see her but heard her back hit the wall. And then…quiet sobbing.

            He sighed and cleared the fog with a gentle gust of wind, finding her sitting on the floor, curled tightly in on herself. She was struggling to breathe, unable to fill her lungs for all the sudden heat. And she was crying, the sort of helpless cry that refuses to remain silent, even with both hands over her mouth. Solas knew this was at least partially his doing, but perhaps it meant she would be more receptive to what he had to say.

            “Sulevin,” he said gently, kneeling beside her. His hand moved to hold her cheek, and he found it burning hot; likewise, she let out a brief sigh from the coolness of his skin against hers. She began to lean into the comforting touch but quickly realized what she was doing and shoved him back.

            “Stay away from me,” she ordered, though the pain in her eyes made the demand somewhat more complex.

            “Please,” he said, being sure to remain as nonthreatening as possible. “Don’t send me away. I only want—”

            “No! I don’t care, just get out,” she barked, less commanding and more begging as she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “Leave!” He was torn, aware that staying could potentially provide her the comfort she needed, _or_ it could lead to her attacking him again. Judging by her tone, his presence was causing her pain. He had to choose his battles, and this was clearly one he wouldn’t win. It seemed that was often the case with her. He didn’t belabor his point any longer and left her where she sat, only hoping he was making the right choice.

            After she had cried herself out and was nursing a headache, Sulevin reluctantly thought on what had happened. With her mind clearer, it was so obvious that he was right—which meant she hadn’t improved at all. Even when he was right there, _telling_ her she was wrong…she had continued to blind herself. “Childish” seemed to be the perfect word, after all. She had to do better. She _had_ to. For all the people who depended on her, who saw her as their only hope. She had to fulfill that role, to do what was best for them. If she was chosen for this, it was for a reason. She had to prove she was worthy of it.


	8. In which Sulevin is reminded of something she's always known

            “Herald, you’ve been working the entire day.” It was Josephine who stood at the edge of her desk, likely sent by someone else who was concerned but didn’t feel comfortable approaching her. Honestly, that could have been anyone. “Is it true you haven’t even eaten?”

            “…I don’t recall,” Sulevin said, trying and failing to focus on a rune formula she had rewritten three times already.

            “If I may, Your Worship: the Breach _is_ stable—”

            “For the moment.”

            “…yes. You have a moment to rest, certainly time to have a meal!” After a few more moments of being ignored, Josephine let out a sigh. “My Lady, may I ask you something?”

            “Of course.” Not satisfied with an offhanded response, she waited in silence until the Herald took the hint and set her work aside to look up wearily. “What is it?”

            “Please don’t think me rude, and feel free not to answer, but…you have loved ones, yes? Close family within your clan?” Taken aback by the question, Sulevin frowned.

            “My clan _is_ my family,” she said.

            “Close friends, then? Or…?” she trailed off there, leading the Herald to draw her own conclusions as to just what she was asking.

            “Why are you asking me all this?” she sighed.

            “As I’ve come to know you of late, it’s come to my attention that you have a very particular type of personality,” Josephine explained. “And it seems to be the type that, when allowed, will work itself to exhaustion, and therefore needs a support system that…will not allow it.” And now Josephine was calling her a child, as well. If the people she was meant to work with had so little faith in her, how could she begin to lead them?

            “I’m _fine_ , Ambassador,” she said coolly, going back to her work.

            “I…forgive me, Your Worship; I didn’t mean to say….” She realized her mistake too late to repair it.

            “Just let me work,” Sulevin said quietly, and Josephine excused herself with a bow. How could she be failing so miserably as a leader that she would _need_ a “support system”? It was true that when there was turmoil, she felt the need to work on it constantly until it was resolved; she felt guilty otherwise. But at the moment, it seemed she had hit a wall; she hadn’t made any progress for the past two hours, too caught up in her own frustrations.

            As she was beginning to fall asleep at her desk, a knock at the door jolted her awake, and she sat up. “Nh. Yes?”

            “May I come in?” Perfect. Just what she needed: a visit from _him_. She didn’t respond, so he prompted, “It is a simple yes-or-no question, _lethallan_.”

            “Fine,” she called, though she wasn’t sure why. She didn’t look up as he stepped inside to stand near her desk.

            “I trust you’ve been at work on something very important,” he said. “And that is the reason no one has seen or heard from you.” A glance over her shoulder at the cluttered desktop quickly disproved this theory.

            “What do you want?” she asked.

            “This is another moment I feel I should inform you that you’re being counterproductive.” To his surprise, she dropped her head to rest it heavily on her desk. “Sulevin?”

            “I’m trying,” she said quietly. “I have been since this mess began. I have been doing all that I can…and here you are—again—to tell me it isn’t enough.” Her eyes glanced up at him from where she lay, a hundred different shades of green and desperately needing _something_. Suddenly, his mouth felt dry, and the one entirely irrational thing he felt could fix it—for both of them—was the one thing he couldn’t do.

            “That is not what I mean to say,” he told her, unable to continue meeting her eyes. “And I apologize if it sounds that way. I simply wish to help you accomplish all that you are capable of.” What he wanted was to be that something she needed, to give her…whatever she lacked that kept her from realizing her potential.

            “And what is that? I haven’t proven myself particularly ‘capable’ thus far,” she muttered, pushing herself off the desk to sit up straight. “I never expected to be responsible for this many people. My clan, certainly, but an army? This great holy…movement? It’s different.”

            “Does it have to be?” he asked, and she looked up at him in confusion.

            “It just _is_. There are so many more here. Most of these _shems_ don’t even trust me—”

            “Because they do not know you. Perhaps you should speak to them. Remind them that you are worthy of their trust,” he advised. “And it may help not to think of them as ‘ _shems_.’ Do you treat these people as you would your clan?”

            “Of course not. My clan is my family. I hardly know most of the people here.”

            “That may be the very root of your problem,” he said, as if he’d come to a great epiphany. “You thought of your clan both as a group and as individual people. You’ve been viewing the Inquisition as a _thing_. It does not hold as much value.”

            “What do you mean—of course it does! I’ve been doing all I can to keep it functioning—”

            “Stop thinking of it that way. Don’t you see, _da’len_ , this may be the very thing you must change!” His enthusiasm on the subject was surprising and…contagious, somehow. “This is the reason you have had such difficulty, and this is how to make it easier. You were trained to be a Keeper—so be one.”

            “It doesn’t work that way,” she said, getting to her feet and crossing her arms. “There are entirely different duties and expectations here. They don’t want a Dalish Keeper; they want ‘Andraste’s Herald.’”

            “What they _have_ is _you_ ,” he pointed out. “Regardless of how they choose to perceive you, their expectations cannot erase who and what you already are.”

            “And _you_ , of all people, are encouraging me to be more Dalish?”

            “I am encouraging you to be as you are, all labels aside,” he said. “It is only reasonable that your position should alter some of your practices, but you need not be defined by their ‘expectations.’ Did you not say these very things to me? The day I met you, you were confident in your ability to lead. Take back that confidence, lead them as you know how, and they will follow.”

            “Why should they?” What he was saying _was_ beginning to make sense, but she remained skeptical. “I was confident in my ability to lead _my clan_ because they had confidence in me. These aren’t my people, Solas.”

            “They are now. If you are suggesting these people do not have confidence in you, clearly you have not been paying attention. But you have been leading them as if you were playing a game of chess, making calculated sacrifices according to your ‘strategy,’” he said, surprising her further with his passion. “You’ve become too far detached. Tell me: if these were your clanmates, would you _ever_ have willingly parted with a single one?” This was issued almost as a challenge.

            “Never,” she said sharply. “My clan was everything to me. They were the ones I greeted each morning, worked with each day, and sent to bed each night. I learned how to lead them because I lived alongside them. And they…knew they could always seek my help. Because they were always my first priority.” This spirited answer made her blood rush, and she was suddenly reminded of how exhausted she was. She stumbled—and fell against Solas’s chest, looking up to find him smiling at her.

            “Well said,” he chuckled. He helped her over to her bed so that she could sit down. “Try it this way. Recall your attitude when you first began this. Show these people that you are as they are. Show them that _they_ are the reason you are here.” She was listening in thoughtful silence, and she nodded slightly.

            “I will…try. Whether there’s any merit to your advice remains to be seen, but it’s possible…I may have tried to change too much,” she conceded, resting back against her pillow, hazy-eyed and coming to realize just how comfortable the bed was. “If going back to what I know will help, I _will_ try.”

            “That is all I can ask. If it is any consolation at all, know that you have my confidence beyond any doubt. For now,” he said, brushing back a lock of red hair that had escaped from her braid, his fingers grazing the tip of her ear by accident so she shivered. “You should rest.” She caught his hand before he could leave.

            “ _Ma serannas_ ,” she said, eyes fixed somewhere near his right shoulder. “Thank you for…ahem, opening my eyes again.”

            “ _Ma nuvenin_ ,” he answered. “And I will do so whenever you need me.” He leaned closer, and her breath hitched—but he hesitated…and his lips brushed softly against her temple. He left her side, putting out the light as he did. “Good night, _mi’durgen_.” She lay in silence for a moment, blushing weakly. She wanted to wonder over exactly what had come over him, but her mind refused the labor. She resolved to confront him about it the following day. He wanted to see her confidence? To see her be a Keeper? That was her element, and she fully intended to show it.


	9. In which confidence is reclaimed, a deal is made, and a diamond sparkles

            Because he so often kept to himself, it was unusual for him to be approached by anyone other than Sulevin herself, much less one of her advisors. Yet as Leliana came up the hill, it seemed she was intent on speaking with him.

            “Solas, have you noticed anything…different about the Herald today? Or perhaps that’s not the right question: do you know what might have _caused_ her to behave differently?” she asked.

            “I may. In what way is she behaving differently?”

            “She was…here in town all morning, speaking with everyone,” the Spymaster informed him, seeming thoroughly confused. “Her tactical orders have changed drastically, as well; she seems intent on protecting our every scout and soldier without exception, and—why are you smiling?”

            “Am I? I suppose I’m pleased to hear she has taken a more personal interest in the Inquisition and its people.” Leliana’s frown suggested she didn’t agree. “Is it a problem?”

            “It is too early to say. I worry if she becomes too involved, she won’t be able to make her decisions with the larger picture in mind.”

            “To the contrary; her being ‘involved’ will ensure that the ‘larger picture’ is not all she can see,” he argued. “In a position such as hers, being too far removed from the people and their trials is dangerous; she could lose sight of exactly what she is fighting for. She needs personal motivation to be sure this _means_ something to her.” As he’d spoken, a smirk had formed on Leliana’s lips, which he then finally noticed.

            “Perhaps you’re right. We will find out soon enough.” As she left, he couldn’t help but wonder whether she had just talked him into revealing more of his feelings on the matter than was strictly necessary. But the more important issue in his mind was Sulevin’s apparent paradigm-shift. He was curious, so he sought her out but didn’t approach her, simply observing from a distance.

            She was having an intent conversation with Commander Cullen, discussing which areas of the Hinterlands would most benefit from an Inquisition military presence and how to go about implementing those decisions in a way that showed their benign intent. The conversation seemed to be amiable in nature. She didn’t seem frustrated or distressed; in fact, he could have sworn he saw the smallest hint of a smile on her lips once they were agreed. It seemed she _was_ still working as much as possible, but she was working _with_ the others, rather than over or around them. She was making an effort to be more available to them and prove they were her “first priority,” which was exactly what he’d suggested. Though he was pleased she had taken his advice, he chose not to mention it for fear of sounding like he was gloating.

            He didn’t see the Herald personally until that evening, after he had already retired to his cabin for the night. He was surprised by the knock at his door but went to answer it regardless. He found Sulevin there, standing on one hip and looking impatient. “ _Aneth ara_ ,” she said. “May I come in?”

            “Of course.” As he stepped aside and closed the door behind her, he added, “I’m told that your behavioral shift was noticed.”

            “So I saw,” she laughed. “Cassandra seemed very confused when I asked to speak to her about something other than the Inquisition.”

            “And do you feel it was productive?”

            “…possibly. It kept me from working as much as I would have liked, but it did seem to make them feel better,” she said, slowly pacing the floor. “And that’s important.”

            “I’m sure it is a comfort to know their leaders are mortal, just as they are. And to feel they matter to you, that their lives and freedoms are what you are striving to protect.” She paused in her pacing and turned to look up at him.

            “I’d like to talk to you about last night.” He had expected this.

            “Here I am,” he said. “What would you like to talk about?”

            “…I wanted to thank you again for your help,” she said. “You could very easily have left me to sort it out myself—I would have told you to. But you didn’t.”

            “It was no trouble. I simply felt it needed to be done.” For a number of reasons.

            “Even so, I argued with you the entire time. I know very well that it isn’t always…easy to spend time around me.”

            “Perhaps not easy,” he agreed. “But that has never kept me from making an effort.”

            “And what does that mean?”

            “That I may be as stubborn as you are?” he laughed, but her silence and refusal to look at him showed this wasn’t quite the answer she’d hoped for. So he cleared his throat and tried again. “It means that I know fire can be tempered with ice.” She couldn’t help but smile upon hearing that, so he assumed it was a step in the proper direction. Moving closer, he took her hand to pull her toward him. “And ice is inevitably melted by fire.” She was certain by that point that she was flushing darkly. His free hand found its way around her waist, and he was just enough taller that she had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes.

            “That’s both poetic and infuriatingly circuitous,” she said, unable to hold his gaze for more than a few moments before turning away. “You are that way, you know.” Undaunted by her teasing, he ran his fingertips up her jawline, leading her back toward him.

            “I could clarify, if you prefer.” For the second time, he leaned in—but this time, it was she who pulled away. In this position, her confidence seemed to have fled completely; she was practically trembling as she pushed weakly at his chest.

            “I-I…please, I can’t,” she managed, and he released her immediately.

            “Have I…done something wrong?” To say he was confused would be an understatement; he’d thought she was responding positively. Why the sudden rejection?

            “No! I’m…it just doesn’t feel right for me to…do this while the Breach remains.” She expected him to be frustrated, but he simply sighed.

            “I suppose it should not surprise me that you feel that way,” he said. “I am…sorry to hear it, but—”

            “But once the Breach is closed, I may feel more comfortable,” she added quickly so that he wouldn’t give up on her completely. “Be patient with me until then, and I’ll have a better answer for you, I’m certain.” If there were any one thing he had in spades, it was patience; if it would put her mind at ease, he would wait. He folded his hands behind his back, partially to keep from reaching out to her again.

            “Then we will continue this conversation after you seal the Breach. Do try not to burn yourself up between now and then.” It felt odd to be smiling so much, but she couldn’t help herself.

            “I suppose you’ll have to keep an eye on me, won’t you?”

            “Believe me: I intend to.” She gave a nervous laugh and took a step back toward the door.

            “I…I should go,” she mumbled, searching for the door behind her—and finding it as her back collided with it. As if she weren’t already embarrassed enough. “Ahem. Good night, _lethallin_.”

            “Good night, _mi’durgen_ ,” he answered as she slipped out the door. He had to admit that he wouldn’t _enjoy_ waiting, but as long as she kept sparkling that way, he was sure he could manage.


	10. In which there must be more to this....

            It was nice to see everyone smiling for a change. Let them have their night to relax and celebrate; it was well-deserved. Sulevin, however, was already thinking on (that is, worrying over) their next move. And the “Elder One” wasn’t the only person who had her worried.

            “You are being missed in the festivities.” Solas found her where she stood safely away from the others; she had never done well in social settings like this.

            “Did you honestly expect me to celebrate?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the fire where everyone was gathered.

            “Perhaps not in the same way that they do,” he answered. “But I hope you intend to reward yourself _somehow_. And if I’m not much mistaken, you and I have a conversation to finish.” She still didn’t look at him, lowering her gaze.

            “Yes, I suppose we do,” she said, “Where were we?”

            “I could refresh your memory, if you like.” He reached toward her waist, intending to draw her close, but paused upon seeing the look on her face. “Is something wrong?” She sighed and gently pushed his hand away.

            “I don’t…know if I can,” she said quietly. “I thought sealing the Breach would bring some peace of mind, but after seeing what could happen if we fail….”

            “If I understand it correctly, you are preventing that reality from coming to pass,” he said, trying to go about this reasonably before resorting to confessing his feelings in more definitive terms. “You are here, and you are fighting—”

            “And I could still fail,” she pointed out.

            “Then you believe…being with me could sabotage your efforts for the Inquisition?” he asked, and she immediately shook her head.

            “It isn’t that. But I couldn’t give my full attention to two matters at once; either the Inquisition would suffer…or you would.”

            “Do you think I’m unaware of that? I have given this quite a lot of thought. And if my feelings are the ones at stake, should it not be my choice to take that risk?” He took her hand, and this time, she didn’t pull it back. “I would not ask for your full attention. But I would prefer the time you can spare over nothing at all.”

            “I saw you die,” she said abruptly, catching him off-guard. “In Redcliffe, in that twisted nightmare of a future. I saw you give your life to save mine. I can’t…think of that. If you felt compelled to do so, to protect your lover?” That word might have given him hope in any other case, but at the moment…. “Can you _imagine_ the guilt I would feel? Can you imagine I could recover from that?”

            “So, what you fear is…?”

            “Loss. To put it simply. With all that’s to be done, knowing we’re constantly in danger…I don’t know that I can do it,” she said. And what could he do? Clearly, his logical approach would not move her. As he was still holding her hand, he pulled it up to his lips and kissed it softly.

            “Sulevin, I—” He was cut off by some commotion near the gates, and they looked to find everyone scrambling for shelter, panicked.

            “Forces approaching! To arms!” Cullen was on his way toward the city gates, followed quickly by her other advisors. Sulevin looked out into the darkness—and she could see lights dotting the mountain all over. She cursed and immediately rushed down to find out what was going on. There was an icy pit in Solas’s core, but he dutifully followed to offer whatever aid he could.

**…**

            “Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way….” The commander sounded as hopeful as she felt. An Archdemon? How could she begin to combat something like that? It didn’t matter. She _had_ to find a way. To protect her people. There was no other choice.

            “Sulevin!” Solas had pushed his way back through the retreating crowds to reach her. “What do you intend to do? Are you willfully sacrificing yourself?”

            “I’m staying behind to buy time,” she said, still gripping her staff tightly. “That’s as far as I’ve planned at the moment.”

            “There must be another way. The Inquisition needs you to—!”

            “If I don’t stay, there will _be_ no Inquisition,” she snapped. “There is no other way.”

            “Then let me stay as well.”

            “ _No_ ,” she said firmly. “He wants me, and I’ll let him have no one else. Go with the others; help keep them safe. I swear I’ll do everything in my power to meet you.” She turned to leave, but he took her hand and pulled her back, looking into her eyes in earnest. A split-second’s hesitation, and she dragged him down for a hard kiss, one he returned in equal measure. Only a moment later, she shoved him roughly away and ordered, “ _Go._ ”


	11. In which even the coldest ice is invariably melted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up: this chapter is about three times as long as any of the others.

            She still had no idea of what she had done wrong. Yet after she’d come back from finally meeting the “Elder One,” only barely escaping with her life, Solas had coolly kept his distance. He had approached her to offer advice for their next course of action, and he had told her how and where they would find Skyhold, but all the time, he had been distant, never touched her for a moment, never smiled or even argued. He was obviously doing this intentionally, but Sulevin could not figure out why.

            Had it been any other matter, she would have simply demanded an answer, but the subject of their potential relationship made her nervous to begin with, and his attitude only reinforced the idea that she should let it alone and not pursue him. So she didn’t bring it up. Not after she was declared Inquisitor. Not when she was overwhelmed with everything that had to be done and losing sleep every night. Not when he inadvertently added to that list by asking a favor that was clearly very important to him.

            Even after that, after _finally_ smiling at her and asking her to her room to talk, still…nothing. They stood on the balcony, and for a moment, he seemed to look at her the way he had before Haven was attacked, as if something about her were infinitely intriguing. Indeed, he had considered giving up his forced restraint and telling her plainly that every time she walked through his study, it took fifteen minutes for him to stop thinking of her and go back to work…but he didn’t.

            Somehow, seeing her so narrowly avoid death had reminded him of the many reasons he had planned not to pursue her originally. To think, he had argued with her about her fear of loss, yet there he was giving in to his own. He reminded himself that it was for the sake of their cause, as well, that it would only complicate things and undoubtedly have negative consequences. None of his justifications made it any easier, however, to pretend he didn’t see the flames in her heart that made her glow from the inside out, to tell her “I respect you deeply” and leave it at that. What choice did he have? He fled, leaving her alone, nonplused, to try to discard her own feelings as he so clearly had his.

**…**

            “Dangerous. It felt too delicate, now damaged. I was a coward.” Cole spoke while Sulevin was distracted by a conversation with Cassandra, simply repeating what he was hearing. Solas generally encouraged his observations, but this one troubled him.

            “May I ask you not to say those things around her?” he responded quietly.

            “Why not? If she doesn’t hear, how will she know? She should know. It would help you both.”

            “Perhaps, temporarily. But as time went on, it would only complicate matters.” He would not be so selfish as to compromise their plans—and her feelings—for the sake of his own heart. He continued to keep his distance and hoped she might find something more stable with…someone else.

            “You don’t want that,” Cole pointed out, and Solas sighed. “You’re afraid. That’s all right. She is, too.” He turned his eyes up toward the Inquisitor and muttered, “Lost, maybe gone, maybe for good, and is it my fault? I pushed him away, pray, pretend it isn’t there. He feels frozen while I’m fevered, still foolishly aflame.” Solas didn’t answer for a moment, only berating himself more for having given her false hope and then cruelly taken it away.

            “…that fire is part of her. I cannot extinguish it.”

            “That isn’t what she wants. Just relief for the burns,” Cole said. By that time, Sulevin’s conversation had ended, and she glanced back at them over her shoulder.

            “All the same, please do me the favor of avoiding that subject,” Solas answered tersely, hoping Cole would heed his wishes and let it alone. Much to his relief, the spirit-boy didn’t speak again for some time, so they were able to return to Skyhold without incident. As he had taken to, Solas locked himself in his study for the evening—but Sulevin was too restless to retire. Instead, she found herself walking the battlements, trying in vain to clear her head. She didn’t notice she had walked past Cole at all until he spoke.

            “Inquisitor?” She jerked in surprise upon realizing she wasn’t alone as she’d thought. She was making an effort to adjust to Cole’s rather unusual presence, but it still took some getting used to.

            “Hello, Cole. I didn’t see—”

            “He hasn’t ‘lost interest.’” She stopped for a moment to process what he’d said, then came back to sit next to him.

            “What do you mean?” Cole was quiet for a moment.

            “He thinks…it’s his sacrifice to make. Safer. Simpler. For you. For everyone. He’s afraid,” he said. “He’s always…different to hear. The Fade sticks to him, and it’s loud. But if I listen, that’s what I hear. Sadness and…a lot of fear.”

            “Fear of what?” Sulevin asked, trying not to take out her frustration on him. “Of me? Being with me?”

            “Of _not_ being with you. Death. Duty. Barriers. He’s afraid of walls and losing you behind them. That’s why he runs. It’s why he won’t tell you. I tried to help him, but fear can be very loud. He couldn’t hear me. So…I’m trying to help you now.” She was frowning deeply.

            “What am _I_ supposed to do? If fear can keep him away, his conviction is _weak_ to begin with,” she growled.

            “Pain is loud, too. I know. You aren’t used to needing something from someone else, and it frightens you. He’s the same way. He doesn’t like needing, so he tells himself something bad will happen if he allows it. I can’t tell him he’s wrong, but you could.” He was swinging his legs absently from the ledge where they sat while she considered his words. Then…it wasn’t a question of his feelings, but of his willingness to act on them? That alone bothered her, but even worse was the fact that he was pretending there had never been anything between them to begin with. If he didn’t want to be with her—whatever the reason—he could at least have the decency to say so and stop her constantly aching over it. “You should tell him.”

            “I _will_ ,” she said, finding the will to be angry with him and hanging onto it tightly, as it was much easier to deal with than the hollow pain she had thus far carried. After getting to her feet, she paused for just a moment. “Thank you, Cole.”

            “I just hope it helps,” he said, watching her stride back down the stairs and toward the Great Hall with clear and definite purpose.

            Solas, meanwhile, had been doing an admirable job of keeping himself otherwise occupied; if she hadn’t visited him personally, he might have been able to avoid thinking of her for the entire night—probably not, but he _might_ have. Still, he was not so lucky, as he heard the door open behind him and soon found Sulevin standing there to the side of his desk. He didn’t look up from his notes, but he could practically feel the shift in her attitude from the recent hesitance she had displayed around him. This could be dangerous.

            “I’m sorry to interrupt your work, Solas, but do you have a moment to talk?” Sure enough, her voice held a familiar air of something powerful being held back…barely.

            “I am…rather busy at the moment,” he said. It wasn’t quite a lie, but his work certainly wasn’t anything so pressing that it couldn’t wait a few minutes. “Perhaps later…?”

            “I would _really_ prefer to talk to you _now_ ,” she said with only the slightest warning edge to her tone. Honestly, her persistence was hardly a surprise by then.

            “Very well,” he said, setting his work aside. “What would you like to discuss?” She took a step back, and he noted her defensively crossed arms.

            “I would prefer somewhere we can speak privately,” she said, glancing up toward the higher floors, where a number of others (including Dorian and Leliana) could potentially hear them talking. Solas had been making a conscious effort not to be left alone with her since their last fiasco of a conversation, but she seemed unlikely to take “no” for an answer. Resigned to what he knew could easily degenerate into an argument, he got to his feet.

            “Lead on.” For once, he hoped he was wrong—but, as expected, she led him upstairs to her room, one of few places _not_ easily accessible by others. As she walked across the room, he stood hesitantly by the stairs. It was only when she reached her own desk that she finally turned to address him. Her voice was calm, even cold.

            “Why have you been avoiding me?” she asked, direct as usual, and he tensed nervously. Of course, he should have known that her silence on the matter wouldn’t last forever, though he had to wonder what had prompted—

            “Have you been speaking with Cole?”

            “Usually. I don’t see how that’s relevant to this conversation,” she said.

            “It is if you two have discussed this particular subject.”

            “No. Because I’m asking _you_.” Nevertheless, it seemed Cole _had_ felt the need to speak to her, to “help” them recover.

            “I have not been avoiding you. Not entirely.”

            “ _Ma harel_. You certainly haven’t been _eager_ to speak with me,” she pointed out. As much as she tried to disguise it, the pain of being ignored showed through her anger. “Something…changed when we came to Skyhold. Why?”

            “If you recall, the night Haven was attacked, you told me you were unsure, that you had reconsidered,” he said, looking away, trying not to admire the color of her eyes or the shape of her lips. “You told me you would prefer to focus your attention on the Inquisition. I have been trying to respect that decision.”

            “And you’ve forgotten what happened later that very same night, before I left the Chantry?” she asked. Unfortunately for Solas, he remembered that moment vividly, as he had since it had happened. “The way you spoke to me, it seemed to be something you wanted. But afterward, you were…distant. Did your feelings on the matter change?”

            “I simply felt—feel—that you were right. Our obligations to the Inquisition must take precedent,” he said, repeating the same justification he had given himself time and again when he’d seen sunlight catch in her hair or flames spark at her fingertips. Her gaze narrowed, and she recrossed her arms.

            “That isn’t what I asked.”

            “No. You asked why I’ve been avoiding you, if indeed I have, and I answered,” he said. Sulevin’s patience was wearing thinner and thinner with every moment he refused to look at her.

            “Yes, and then I asked another question, which you’ve chosen to ignore.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

            “May I go? I see no point in repeating myself.” He turned toward the stairs, but she threw up a barrier to block his path.

            “ _No_ , you may _not_ ,” she said, striding across the room toward him. “Elgar’nan take you for a coward….”

            “I don’t—” He took a step back, but she kept pushing until his back hit the wall. She gripped his shirtfront, making it more and more difficult to escape her gaze.

            “Tell me you don’t want me,” she demanded. Faced with his silence, she tightened her grip and muttered, “ _Say it_.”

            “I can’t.”

            “You can. It’s simple. Just a few words, and I’ll let you be. You can go back to your ‘obligations,’ and I will…put it out of my mind.” A few moments passed in silence, and she dropped her head, letting it brush against his shoulder. “Please. Say _something_. I can’t stand…waiting and hoping with no result. I can’t pretend I don’t feel this. If you don’t want it…at least tell me, so I can try to let it go.”

            He remained silent, torn. There was his desire to keep things simple and safe between them, even if that meant cleanly severing whatever kept drawing them back together—and there was his heart, agonized to see her, their ever-confident Inquisitor, reduced to this. What to do? He was not so vain as to say she couldn’t lead without his support—but they had both already noted that he was able to reach her in a way no one else had. As to his own feelings…even her current nearness had his senses alight. Having been able to see her but restraining himself from speaking his mind, he was simply full of thoughts on the elegance of her spellcasting, the authority in her voice as she issued commands, the brief glimpses of her neck afforded by her cowl. In short, it would be not only an untruth, but an insult to say he didn’t care for her.

            “I cannot lie to you, _mi’durgen_ ,” he said quietly. “Nor to myself. But—”

            “Then don’t try.” Her hands found their way to his shoulders, and he did reach to remove them, but before he could do so, her lips met his, and he froze. This kiss was not at all like the first, fueled more by desire than desperation. It was softer, slower, but similarly brief. Sulevin’s hands had clenched in the fabric of his shirt, and she took a moment to regulate her breathing before speaking again. “…I’m sorry.”

            “It’s all right.” She took a step back and, with a wave of her hand, dispelled her barrier. She had embarrassed herself enough for the evening.

            “Go. I won’t b—mm!” She was cut off with a gasp as his hands caught her waist to pull her back for another kiss. She tensed for only a moment, but as he leaned back against the wall and his arms fully circled her midriff, she relaxed against his chest and kissed him back. It lasted longer this time, and Sulevin became increasingly aware of the warm shivers through her stomach. His fingertips pressed into the small of her back, and she let out the softest sound against his lips, only encouraging him to deepen the kiss further. It was only a moment before she had to push him away to catch her breath, though she didn’t try to leave his arms.

            “Forgive me.” His lips met her neck instead as he spoke quietly to keep her attention. “You were the one to open my eyes this time, _mi’durgen_.”

            “Why…why do you keep calling me that?” Of all the things she could have said, _this_ was the subject she wanted to discuss? It was possible her nerves had simply gotten to her;  she had absolutely no experience in this area, so perhaps she was trying to distract him from it. It wasn’t working.

            “Because you are beautiful,” he said between kisses, drawing out a gasp as his tongue met her skin. With a laugh, he added, “And quickly proving yourself to be all but indestructible. Because you were formed through a lifetime of pressure—and thrived on it.” He moved now to look into her eyes as she hung on his every word. “Because…you are viciously sharp and not without your faults, yet no matter which side of you I see, you always find a new way to shine.”

            She let out a small sigh before pulling him back down for another kiss. When it ended, she took his hands to pull them away from her back; for a moment, he was puzzled, until she stepped backward and pulled at them. She glanced toward her bed, then again at him, making another wordless offer, one he gladly accepted. She soon found herself kneeling on the bed, her body held tightly against his, and caught in yet another kiss.

            He tried to push his fingers into her hair but was halted by the tight plait over her shoulder. As he pulled out the tie that held it together, she considered protesting; her braid had always felt like a way of staying put-together, in control. But if there were any one person she trusted with even this small admission of vulnerability, it was him.

            “ _Ar lath ma_ ,” she muttered as his fingers combed through her dark red locks, then went rigid as she realized what she had let slip. It wasn’t that it was untrue, but when they had only just come from him ignoring her feelings completely, maybe it wasn’t the best time for such an admission. She was only left to worry over that for a moment, however, as Solas smiled and kissed her temple.

            “ _Vhenan, ar ir’lath ma_ ,” he answered. “I only regret not saying it sooner.”

            There wasn’t much to be said from then; their lips were too often otherwise occupied to speak, besides. There was her panting breath against his ear and his fingertips trailing up the inside of her thigh; there was her back arching off the bed and his mouth exploring her generous curves; there were red lines across his shoulders and handprints on her hips, unexpectedly-high-pitched, overwhelmed moans and breathless confessions of love and several more long, deep kisses.

            Once they were both exhausted—one rather more than the other—they lay close together, his fingers absently sliding through her hair while she struggled not to fall asleep. Sulevin sat up just a bit to place a kiss on his jawline and get his attention.

            “You’ll…stay, won’t you?” she asked quietly, as though speaking loudly required too much energy. The fact that she felt the need to ask at all surprised him; did she have so little faith in his conviction?

            “Of course.” He was rewarded with a smile and suddenly didn’t mind the question.

            “Good. I’ll want to talk to you about this…in the morning,” she said, moving closer to nuzzle into his chest.

            “I look forward to it,” he laughed. He pressed another kiss to the top of her head and was actually able to watch as she fell asleep beside him. His smile faded a bit as, for the first time since she had kissed him, his mind was clear enough to consider the consequences of what they had done, what they would do. His feelings weren’t in question, and Sulevin was obviously happier than she’d been in all the time he’d known her; he just worried what it would mean for the Inquisition…and for the future. But then, there was plenty of time to consider that later. At the moment, there was a beautiful woman asleep in his arms, and he had no intention to ruin that by overthinking. As he subdued the flames in the fireplace, however, he couldn’t help but draw connections between it and his fiery lover, similarly overcome, and he smirked. _Ice tempers fire, indeed._

**…**

            When Sulevin woke, she was given an immediate reminder that she wasn’t alone in her bed, as Solas’s arms were wrapped around her, his face buried in her hair. And—oh, Creators—they were both still naked! She hadn’t thought about this part the previous night, too drunk on love and desire to consider such a thing. Moving carefully to avoid waking him, she shifted and sat up in the bed, only to be reminded of the night’s events in another way. She stiffened, legs pressed together, and her face was burning hot. She _really_ hadn’t thought about this part. She hurried into the next room to bathe and dress, all the while thinking on the night that had passed.

            This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? Him, honestly wanting her and staying at her side. He had returned her “I love you,” as well, called her “ _vhenan_.” So why did she feel so anxious? Perhaps because she’d thought before that he wanted her, only to be proven wrong and ignored. After the night they’d just had, she was sure he wouldn’t try to do such a thing again, yet the fear remained. What would happen when she was being less agreeable? Would he still be patient with her when she argued or lost her temper? Or would he leave again whenever she was difficult to be around?

            When she returned to her room, he was still asleep, and she made no effort to wake him. Instead, she went outside and sat on the balcony that overlooked the mountains, closed her eyes, and listened. She did this on occasion when things were too overwhelming; it was something she’d done even while living with her clan. Because her chambers were so high up, the sounds of the rest of the keep didn’t carry there, so she was left with the wind and the birds that she had found nesting just to the right of the window. She would have preferred to have trees as well, but this still helped. After some times, longer than she realized, she was roused by Solas sitting next to her, mercifully redressed.

            “You could have woken me,” he said, leaning in to place a kiss on her temple.

            “I’m sorry. I was…just thinking.” He had observed her in distress enough times to know exactly what sort of “thinking” she meant.

            “Of what?” His hand found hers and held it, his thumb rubbing absently over her skin now and then. It was so simple, yet it helped so much—as he’d hoped it would.

            “This,” she said, holding his hand a bit tighter. He waited a moment for her to elaborate, but she didn’t.

            “ _Dirth ma, vhenan_. Do you not feel comfortable speaking to me? Do you…not want this?”

            “It’s not that,” she said, glancing up at him with her discomfort now more clearly written on her face. “I _do_ want it. That’s why I’m afraid. I want to know that you’ll stay. We both know the way I am. If I should need you and you aren’t there….”

            “I see.” After a moment’s consideration, he turned to face her fully, leading her to do the same and taking both of her hands in his. “I want nothing more than to be here if and when you need me. But if saying that is not enough, tell me what you need to hear.” It made her feel a bit childish, but she considered nevertheless.

            “Tell me you’ll open my eyes when I need it.”

            “As I’ve said before, whenever necessary.”

            “Say you’ll want me, even when I make it difficult.”

            “There is no part of you I do not want, _mi’durgen_.”

            “Tell me I’ll be enough….”

            “I could not begin to ask for more.”

            “And…and tell me….” What else? She needed to be _sure_ , beyond any doubt; if this fell apart, she was certain everyone would suffer. Tears began to well up in her eyes, and they showed through her voice. Solas took this as a cue to move closer, leaning his forehead against hers.

            “ _Ar lath ma_ ,” he said simply.

            “…that should be enough, then.” She kissed his lips, rather harder than expected, and added, “You’ll just have to prove it so I have no doubt.” Pleased to see her confident enough to tease him, he watched her rise and go back inside, finally ready to begin the day, and with renewed fervor. Good. Perhaps this would be better for the Inquisition than their forced separation, after all. After catching her against a wall for one last, thorough kiss, he began to leave, hoping to avoid drawing any attention as he exited her room. “One more thing.” He paused at the stairs to look back and find her smirking at him, her voice dripping with false sweetness: “Don’t think for a moment that this gives you leave to avoid arguing with me.” He shook his head at her, but he was smiling.

            “ _Vhenan_ , I wouldn't dream of it.”


End file.
